


Interrobang

by hyunbyun



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, M/M, also inspired by that terrible mall commercial, features mall security jj slowly but surely chasing yuri around on his segway
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:29:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyunbyun/pseuds/hyunbyun
Summary: Interrobang: a nonstandard punctuation mark used in various written languages and intended to combine the functions of the question mark, or interrogative point, and the exclamation mark, or exclamation point, known in the jargonof printers and programmers as a "bang".A mall au: in which Katsuki Yuuri works at Barnes and Nobles, Viktor Nikiforov works as a shirtless model at Abercrombie and Fitch, and Yuri Plisetski is the pitiful soul that manages the small phone stand in between them. Chaos ensues.





	1. Barking Up the Wrong Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! The mall is based off the local mall in my town lol and barnes and nobles is a bookstore! yuri works at cellairis, which is a stand in the middle of the corridor that fixes phones and such. also abercrombie and fitch always has these half naked models posing outside their store for promotion. Look it up its honestly wild.

In retrospect, maybe Yuuri really _should_ have listened to Mari, maybe he _should_ have looked the place up beforehand, and maybe he _should_ ask around the mall right about now.

 

But social anxiety exists, and Yuuri would rather not deal with that today—or ever, actually.

 

So now he’s still wandering around aimlessly in the mall. Well, he shouldn’t say _aimlessly_ ; he’s been searching for Barnes and Nobles for about an hour. Yuuri checks his watch. Nevermind. Two hours.

 

There has to be a limit to how big a mall could be. In Yuuri’s opinion, it’s _way_ too big for it to be categorized as a “local mall”. If anything, it could give the Mall of America a run for its money—not that Yuuri can complain. He rarely goes out anyway, and it’s not as though he necessarily _wants_ to go out either, being his own introverted self.

 

Yuuri’s grip on his shoulder bag tightens. It’s weird that he doesn’t know where Barnes and Nobles is. There are tons of signs everywhere, and Yuuri considers himself an extreme book addict. Then again, Mari usually brings them to his room for him when she comes home from work.

 

Yuuri scowls. He passes the Dairy Queen on the second floor for the fourth time and there is no sign of him finding a Barnes and Nobles _anywhere_. He’s beginning to think Mari offering him that job was just some obscure dream he took too seriously. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s in some other worldly dimension. Maybe the cashier behind the Dairy Queen counter staring incredulously at him is just some alien in an alien world he accidentally stumbled into in his sleep—

 

Okay, that’s a little too extreme.

 

He’s on the verge of actually growing the balls to ask someone when he spots a crowd in the middle of the corridor right in front of Bath & Body Works—Yuuri would know. Walking through the mall for two whole hours has basically programmed his mind to memorize the whole damn blueprint.

 

In the midst of the crowd, someone’s beat boxing. Maybe there’s music too, but really it’s already drowned out the cheers of the dozens of people surrounding them. There are some occasional hollers and shouts, but Yuuri would rather fail all of his classes than be mixed up in _whatever_ that is, so he strays by the side, eyeing the crowd cautiously.

 

Nonetheless, curiosity gets the best of him, and he begrudgingly stretches his neck to catch a glimpse at the attraction that’s garnered so much attention.

 

Although he’s somewhat over five feet, he can barely see anything from the height of those in front of him. He frowns, ready to move on because—now that he thinks about it—he’s probably going to get lectured into oblivion by Mari, but spots a bright shade of silver hair in between the dozens of bodies before him. It glistens in the light shining down from the ceiling windows, and Yuuri discovers that the owner of that silver hair is actually _breakdancing_. Who breakdances in the middle of a mall? A blonde is at his side, beat boxing his life away to the music that blasts from the stereo on the fountain behind them.

 

Someone throws a coin in the air to tip them, and Yuuri watches as its arc slowly and miraculously passes in front of a—

 

—a Barnes and Nobles sign hanging from the side of the wall.

 

_Holy shit._

 

He gasps, taking off to the store like going after the last bowl of kastudon. He pushes his way through the edge of the crowd blocking the wide corridor. How they managed to block that impossibly wide corridor is a thought for another day, because Yuuri has _finally_ , after _hours_ upon _hours_ of searching, found the _damn_ Barnes and Nobles.

 

“ _Look out!”_

 

“ _Wait_ , Vik—there’s someone—”

 

Yuuri doesn’t have time to comprehend that—oh, the silver haired man is tumbling directly at him, and wow, he’s _right_ in front of hi— _oh my god—_

 

* * *

 

“...chit, I _pummeled_ him. He got fucking _decimated_. I killed him, holy _shit_ ,” a voice exclaims with all the panic of the world.

 

“Why did you bring him _here?_ I don’t want any part of your _murder_ , you _murderer!”_ a second voice responds with equal panic.

 

“You were _right there!_ Where else was I supposed to bring him?”

 

“A _hospital?”_

 

“Calm down, he’s breathing, isn’t he?” another joins in, nonchalant and dismissive.

 

“But for _how long_?”

 

“Chill your tits. He’s waking up.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t know he’s groaning until the voice says he is. He scrunches his nose, furrows his eyebrows, and winces when he finally registers the pain shooting up his body. Someone holds him down in a relaxing manner, and thankfully soothes his wounded muscles.

 

“Woah, calm down there,” the second voice assures. “You sprained your ankle when you” —a snort, why is this person laughing at him?— “ _went down_ , so I just put some ice on it.”

 

True to their word, Yuuri does feel the familiar chill setting on his ankle. He breathes a little easier and tries to open his eyes.

 

The bright lights are instantly murderous, and Yuuri instinctively shuts them again. He twists his head to the side, throwing an arm over his face. Tentative, he tries again, this time using his hand as a shield against the lights shining down in his face. He blinks a few times to get used to the brightness.

 

Out of all things— _all things_ , Yuuri isn’t expecting to see a male munching distressingly and almost pathetically onto some pretzel nuggets by his side, but honestly, _whatever_. Yuuri’s gone through enough shit today as it is.

 

“What happened?” he croaks, and cringes at how dry his throat is.

 

“You got ran over by this guy here,” the third voice—the nonchalant one—says. Yuuri turns his head to see a smaller blonde pointing lazily at the former man sitting beside him.

 

“...Ran over?”

 

“I didn’t see you,” the other man blurts out, and Yuuri finally starts to realize that he’s the same man that was in the middle of the crowd. “I kicked you in the head when I backflipped and you sprained your ankle when you fell down.”

 

Ah. Yuuri groans again, wincing at the mention of his ankle.

 

“So, Viktor dragged you over here when you fainted,” the second voice adds in, walking over to check on the ice on his ankle. “You’re on a massage table in Art of Massage, and now I’m probably going to be charged as an accomplice in an attempted murder.”

 

Yuuri can’t help but chuckle when Viktor smacks him on the shoulder.

 

“It wasn’t _that_ bad!” he cries dramatically. Yuuri doesn’t know whether he’s acting as a joke, or if he’s just that dramatic as a person. He doesn’t have time to consider it for long because Yuuri suddenly finds that, for the second time that day, Viktor’s face is right in front of his, distressed and in disarray. “Please tell me it wasn’t that bad.”

 

 _No, it hurts like a bitch_. “Uh, it wasn’t that bad.”

 

“See? He’s fine. Totally fine,” Viktor confirms, but it seems like it’s more to convince himself than anything. He looks back at the person holding the ice pack on his ankle. “Tell your manager that she doesn’t have to call 911.”

 

“Uh, my _manager_ is probably gonna kill me if she finds out I’m letting someone rest here without charge.”

 

Yuuri shifts uncomfortably at that, already moving to sit up despite the raging headache. “Sorry…”

 

“No, no! It’s fine,” voice number two says, making calming gestures. “She kicks my ass on a daily basis, anyway.”

 

That doesn’t make Yuuri feel any better.

 

“I don’t think you’re doing a good job of reassuring him, Phichit,” the third one chimes in, scoffing from where he sits hunched with his cheek resting sloppily on his hand. “Basically what he’s saying is that, since his ass gets kicked every single day, it doesn’t matter how much of a burden you are.”

 

Phichit throws a long towel over his neck and starts to choke him. Yuuri watches as the blonde struggles, feeling no sympathy.

 

“Sorry, Yuri here’s just going through—well,” Phichit pauses, glancing upward as if it would give him the answer, and tightens his grip on the towel wrapping around the blonde’s neck, “well, he’s still a teen.”

 

It takes a second for Yuuri to realize that _Yuri_ is the blonde currently being strangled.

 

“I’m not a _teen_ , dammit,” Yuri struggles to growl out. He claws at Phichit’s arms, which doesn’t really do anything in the long run, seeing how his attacker is simply smiling down on him.

 

“Sure you are. You’re nineteen.”

 

“I’m only two years younger than you!”

 

While Yuuri does find their bickering amusing, it certainly doesn’t soothe his increasing headache. Viktor clears his throat on his side. Yuuri almost forgets he’s there.

 

“Uh, are you sure? That you’re okay, I mean,” he cautiously says, as if saying any more and Yuuri would die or something. “Like, I really didn’t kill you or anything, right?”

 

Yuuri glances down at his still _very_ alive body and back at Viktor. He nods. “My head still hurts, and my foot’s sore, but I’m fine though…”

 

Apparently, that doesn’t do much to sooth the concern off Viktor’s face. Maybe Yuuri should have rephrased that.

 

“Uh, it’s not your fault, really,” Yuuri tries again. “I just took off back there and ran right in front of you and your… uh…”

 

“Backflip?”

 

“Your backflip.”

 

“You’re not gonna, like,” Viktor starts, leaning in closer, “ _sue_ me or anything, right?”

 

Yuuri looks at him incredulously. “Ah, no. I’m not going to sue you.”

 

At his words, Viktor exhales deeply in relief. He slumps back in his seat, seemingly less distressed than before, as if all of his worries dissipated in the air simply because he’s not getting sued.

 

“Is that what you were worried about? Getting _sued_?” _Not my well being?_

 

Viktor laughs, but Yuuri doesn’t find what’s so funny. “Oh yeah, I was also worried about you and your little injury, but more importantly, my financial stability, which is nonexistent at this point, being a college student and all.”

 

Yuuri pauses. “You kicked me in the head.”

 

“On _accident_.”

 

“I fell and sprained my ankle.”

 

“But did you die, though?”

 

Yuuri’s head is spinning. What the hell’s wrong with this guy? He’s gaping at him like he grew a second head, but Viktor merely smiles like there’s not a thing wrong in the world.

 

“Viktor, I think you broke him,” Phichit says, hanging over Yuri’s now defeated figure on the bench. “Maybe offer him a pretzel nugget?”

 

Viktor complies. “Want a pretzel nugget?”

 

Yuuri stares at the nugget in Viktor’s outstretched hand and back again at his face—a gesture he finds himself doing a lot more lately. “No. No, I don’t want any pretzel nuggets, thank you.”

 

Viktor shrugs and pops one into his mouth. “Suit yourself.”

 

“Suit yourself,” Phichit repeats, leaning over to pluck a nugget from Viktor’s small paper cup of pretzels. Yuri reaches over to grab some too, but is quickly shut down.

 

“If you think you can freely grab some of my pretzel nuggets after that, you’re _wrong_ ,” Viktor arrogantly says to him, moving the cup of nuggets out of his reach. Yuri scowls, but sits back down, shoulders slumped and back hunched, like some kind of cat, Yuuri subconsciously thinks.

 

“Um,” Yuuri starts, now desperately attempting to get out of this bizarre situation, “do you know how long I have to stay here? I actually have somewhere to go…”

 

“Oh,” Phichit says, “You can actually leave whenever. I would just advise against it, ‘cause you know—”

 

Yuuri winces while the world spins as he tries to get up. He slumps back down on the massage table defeated.

 

“—the head thing,” Phichit finishes. “You want some Advil or something?”

 

Yuuri nods, and wonders why that wasn’t the first thing he offered. After thanking Phichit when he hands him a pill and a water bottle, he roughly swallows it down with his dry throat. Blanching, he frowns and makes a face at the horrid taste. Viktor chuckles at him.

 

“But serious talk though,” Yuri says, recently released from Phichit’s death grip. “Why _are_ you still here?”

 

Yuuri gapes at him. What’s wrong with these people? Did he miss the entire conversation he just had with Viktor? “I was kicked in the head.”

  
Yuri and Phichit share a look.

 

“Okay, but did you die though?” Yuri asks.

 

Yuuri has nothing to say that. Viktor suddenly pops in his chair.

 

“O _h_ , hey look at these,” Viktor says. He leans over to the side of the massage table, reaching for something out of Yuuri’s eyesight. His heart leaps out of his chest when Viktor lifts a book from his shoulder bag. “Look, you got all these books here and--”

 

“Wait, wait, _wait_ ,” Yuuri protests, sitting up to grab the book out his hands, but to no avail. Viktor stretches his arm out of reach and his head still hurts too much for him to do any strenuous activities. Even Phichit joins in. Yuri sits idly on the side, watching boredly, and without any pretzel nuggets.

 

“Oh, _Wuthering Heights_ by Emily Bronte. Good choice,” Viktor comments, and that in itself is almost enough to get Yuuri to settle down. “You know, I would sympathize for Edgar, but honestly? What did he do in the story? _Nada_. Zip. Nothing. I like Heathcliff more.”

 

Yuuri retracts his hand and places it on his chest, suddenly distracted by Viktor’s bold claim, his former issue completely thrown out the window. “You like _Heathcliff_ more? After what he did to Cathy and Hareton? At least Edgar had the courage to stand up to him and his abusive obsession with revenge.”

 

“ _Debatable._  His obsession with revenge just showed how much he loved the late Catherine.”

 

“Catherine was a _bitch,_ ” Phichit joins in, which Yuuri, although agreeing with him, is still shocked at. Phichit shrugs. “Hey, I may not have done that well in high school but _damn_ , do I remember a bitch when I see one.”

 

Yuuri’s switch is about to be flipped, and he isn’t afraid to defend his stance on the topic. He studied and analyzed this piece of literature for a whole _year_ in high school. He made a table for every character’s development throughout the book. He created a family tree for the Earnshaws and the Lintons, despite how screwed up it was in reality. He talked and argued with hypothetical people to prove points to himself that he already knows. Yuuri is _ready_ for this conversation. Yuuri’s going to _show them off—_

 

The bell chimes.

 

“Shit, that’s a customer. Hey, chill out maybe and look like you’re being relaxed or something, yeah? I really don’t want my ass kicked today,” Phichit instructs, before turning to deal with the customer that just walked in. Yuuri’s heart deflates in on itself.

 

“Fine, but this conversation isn’t over,” Viktor says, and rummages more through Yuuri’s bag. Yuuri would protest about the sudden invasion of privacy, but there’s not much in there besides books, and Viktor probably wouldn’t listen to him anyway. Plus, his energy has all but vanished after all that wasted mental preparation.

 

“Oh, this is interesting. It’s a play,” Viktor finally says, flipping through the thin paperback book in his hands. “What’s this about? _A Raisin in the Sun._ ”

 

Yuuri lights up. “Oh! Oh, I love that play. It’s a story about how a black family struggling with financial stability deals with a sudden check of ten thousand dollars. It’s actually really interesting. See, because there’s actually so much more than tha—"

 

“Well, what do you know, my break is suddenly over. See ya, losers,” Yuri interrupts with a lazy and disinterested tone, as he gets up from his seat on the bench. “Nice meeting ya, Mr. Headache.”

 

“Why the hell were you even here in the first place?” Viktor calls after him.

 

“Free pretzels nuggets, bitch,” Yuri replies, and snatches a nugget from Viktor’s hands before he could do anything about it and saunters out of the store.

 

 _What a kid_ , Yuuri thinks.

 

* * *

 

“How could you say that fiction is better than nonfiction?” Viktor cries, astounded.

 

“Because fiction is so much more interpretive. You’re never wrong!” Yuuri responds with equal emphasis.

 

“It’s not _interpretive,_  you make up bullshit and anything goes.”

 

“Well, now I see what kind of person _you_ were in high school.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t know how they got to this conversation. It started out simple enough, just them talking about books and whatnot--a peaceful conversation Yuuri can have without stuttering. But sooner or later, Yuuri made the horrible decision to make a stab at the blandness of nonfiction books, and Viktor responded likewise.

 

“Fiction books just have way too many areas of bias. Everybody’s right and everybody’s wrong. There’s no correct answer,” Viktor shoots back, shaking his head.

 

Yuuri frowns at him. “But that’s the joy of fiction. The fact that there’s no right answer means that you have to search for your evidence and fight for your claim. It starts debates.”

 

“Yet, even when they’re no right answer, your teacher can still tell you that you’re wrong,” Viktor retorts, a bitter expression on his face. Yuuri can really tell what kind of high school experience he had in English.

 

“I think you’re just bitter because you got a four on the AP exam,” Yuuri counters riskily.

 

Viktor gasps, a hand on his chest in offense while the other clutches tightly onto the paper cup of pretzel nuggets. He sputters, probably for dramatic effect, and flips his bangs to the side.

 

“Be that as it may,” he says, instead of denying Yuuri’s impromptu claim, “I am… _not_ bitter.”

 

“I just don’t understand your hatred of fiction books. Didn’t you like _Wuthering Heights_?”

 

Viktor crosses his arms and slumps back onto the bench, his eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. “See, I only got into that book because a friend recommended it to me.”

 

“And what your interest in _A Raisin in the Sun_?”

 

“It reflects the lives of those living in urban apartments struggling with financial stability! I r _elate to that!_ ” Viktor says, his arms animated and up in the air. “I mean, not to the extent of what _they’ve_ been through, but it’s nonfiction enough.”

 

“That argument can be used for _every_ fiction book, though,” Yuuri replies, mirroring Viktor’s gesture when they both cross their arms again.

 

Viktor holds up a finger, and Yuuri closes his mouth just when he’s about to say more. “Not _every_ book. See, there’s this novel my friend’s obsessed with. It’s called _Human of the Lost Ones_ by Kevin Beltran. You’ve heard of it, right? I mean, it’s the storm of the century in the book business.”

 

Oh, Yuuri’s heard of it, alright. Actually, if Viktor had searched deeper into his bag, he would’ve found the exact copy of it, carefully tended to with a signature from the very Kevin Beltran himself. There’s a reason why it’s the storm of the century. With exceptionally placed diction and highly specialized syntax, Kevin Beltran creates a world of fantasy where no cliches exist, and originality prospers. Yuuri remembers that exact line from his AP exam—which he got a five on, not that he’s bragging.

 

“I’ve heard of him. Kevin Beltran, I mean,” Yuuri says, with a calm facade.  

 

Kevin Beltran is his hero, after all.  

 

“Good, cause Kevin Beltran ain’t _shit_.”

 

Yuuri opens his mouth, closes it, then proceeds to stare down Viktor in the face.

 

“Now, don’t get me wrong. The plot is mediocre at best—"

 

 _Mediocre?!_ If this is what whiplash is, Yuuri never wants to experience it again.

 

"—but honestly, is there a reason for him to put so many superfluous words in it? It’s like he’s trying to flaunt how big his vocabulary is.”

 

Yuuri subconsciously frowns at that. Viktor continues.

 

“And what is with that _sentence structure_? Oh my god, I can’t even tell what he’s trying to say in each sentence.”

 

There goes Yuuri’s five, right down the toilet.

 

“It’s just not that good. Why is he so obsessed with it? Why’s the _world_ obsessed with it? I could probably write a better story than that.”

 

 _Human of the Lost Ones_ is Yuuri’s favorite book of the season.

 

“You know, the only character I _did_ enjoy was Xavier,” Viktor says, a positive review this time. Yuuri’s hope and motivation peaks at the change of topic. “The amount of emphasis Beltran placed on his rock hard body and its impact on the villagers was, I admit, interesting to read. You don’t see that a lot these days—"

 

“I _know right_?” Yuuri interrupts, unable to help himself upon the mention of one of the most interesting characters (in his opinion) in the book. Finally, _finally, a_  topic he can work with. “I personally see it as a reflection of how society places so much emphasis on the fit male body type and how it subconsciously fuels teen boys’ decreasing body image. The media can do so many positive things, but if we’re talking about the overall impact it has on young adults that struggle with their body image, it’s actually not that helpful.”

 

Viktor nods, clearly taken by surprise by Yuuri’s outburst on social injustice. “Yeah, uh, actually I was just about to say—"

 

“When you think about it, what do you see when you look up beautiful models on google? Just people with fit bodies and muscle. What do you see when overweight people are seen as a joke in movies and tv shows? How are young adults supposed to interpret that?”

 

“Er, I was just about to—"

 

“Xavier’s character was so significant to the villagers because it reflects reality. It shows how much influence conformity can have if you merely place desirable attributes on an already desirable person with an ideal body. Once that happens, then _everybody_ wants to be like that person, regardless if they’re already satisfied with themselves. Social media is the one that’s raising the bar higher and making it more difficult for young adults to truly accept who they are.

 

“And every male who openly flaunts their body is unnecessary and contributes to the problem,” Yuuri finishes fantastically. He takes a deep breath, then exhales, a proud look on his face. He almost reiterated his whole AP exam essay.

 

“So, like,” Viktor says after a while, “you don’t like guys with muscles?”

 

“Really?” Yuuri gapes. “That’s all you got from that?”

 

“Well, of course I understand where you’re coming from, but the main point is that Kevin Beltran is _not_ that good of a writer, despite his take on social injustice towards struggling young adults.”

 

“Well,” Yuuri repeats, “I think fit bodies are too overrated in today’s business industry. It’s tactic is too overused and it’s become boring.”

 

“Well, I think that if people want to flaunt off their bodies, they can. It’s _their_ body and _their_ decision, after all.”

 

“ _Well,_ I think that Kevin Beltran’s writing style is more than satisfactory. In fact, I think it’s _superb_. Maybe you’re just expressing your bitterness from your mediocre AP score onto his writing career.”

 

Viktor gasps again, but this time, Yuuri feels no regret. He huffs, and crosses his arms, turning his head away from Viktor’s affronted expression.

 

“Well, _I_ think—Viktor starts, but he never gets to finish, because the next thing Yuuri knows is that there’s screaming near the entrance of the store and now an old man is dashing at them, all the anger of the world adsorbed onto his face.

 

He speaks in rapid fast Russian, and somehow, even though Yuuri knows absolutely zero Russian, he can exactly what he’s saying. It’s kind of easy—the old man is spitting out curse word after curse word (probably) and pointing furiously at Viktor, who is currently looking for a place to hide. Yuuri doesn’t know why, the old man’s already spotted him anyway.

 

Viktor checks his watch from where he’s knelt down behind the massage table. He lets out a string of curse words under his breath. “ _Shit_ , I’m totally late. I’m so _fucking_ late.”

 

“Viktor,” Phichit calls from where he’s now massaging a customer’s back, “your escort is here.”

 

Right on cue, Viktor pops up from his hiding place, and— _is he using Yuuri as a human shield_?

 

“Hey, Yakov,” he says, a nervous chuckle lingering on his tone. Yuuri turns to look at the old man. He doesn’t look too happy.

 

“See, funny story—” Viktor begins, before throwing the paper cup at Yuuri and sprinting out of the store, flexibly maneuvering away from his pursuer, who screeches after him.

 

Yuuri would pray for Viktor’s safety, but he’s still attached to his uncompleted argument. Now he’s going to be thinking about what he could have said the rest of the day. Not an hour will go by without him remembering the fact that somebody out there in the world does not, in fact, share the love as he does for Kevin Beltran.

 

Yuuri glances down at the greasy paper cup in his lap. There’s a single pretzel nugget left.

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” someone says, and Yuuri looks up and see Phichit by his side again, playing with the ice pack Yuuri forgot was on his ankle. “Seeing how you completely demolished Viktor’s argument, you’re good to go now, right?”

 

Yuuri blinks. “Oh, uh yeah. Thank you for letting me stay here.”

 

“No problem,” Phichit says, smiling brightly. “It’s just that my manager comes back soon from break and I want my ass in tact today.”

 

Yuuri gasps when a sudden thought enters his mind. “ _Oh my god._ ”

 

“What, what?” Phichit says, panicked. He’s looking around the store for whatever reason. Yuuri shakes his head furiously.

 

“ _My sister’s going to kill me._ My _ass will be the one kicked today_ ,” he whispers, as if saying it any louder would summon her to his location. “ _I was supposed to be at Barnes and Nobles_ _since 2:45._ ”

 

“Uh, well,” Phichit says, looking at the clock on the wall, “it’s um, it’s a quarter past five now.”

 

Yuuri groans, his face buried in his hands in despair.

 

“It’s okay! I’m sure your sister will understand if you’ve been kicked in the head, sprained your ankle, and gone on a total tangent about the social injustices of the world,” Phichit assures, a dose of optimism in his tone.

 

Once again, that doesn’t make him feel any better.

 

“Plus, Barnes and Nobles is right beside us,” he adds.

 

Yuuri freezes. “It’s… it’s _where?”_

 

“Barnes and Nobles. It’s directly to the right of us. The fountain you fainted at is right outside the entrance. That’s why Viktor brought you here?” Phichit’s voice goes into a higher octave in question.

 

Yuuri doesn’t hear the rest when he grabs his shoulder bag and shoots out of the store, before wincing and limping as fast as he can.

 

* * *

 

After all Yuuri’s been through today, he would think that he’d rush into Barnes and Nobles, beg for forgiveness, and everything would be good and dandy.

 

But now Yuuri can’t bring himself to step a foot into that hell.

 

Well, he shouldn’t say _hell,_  since that’s ironically where his haven of books are. But he can spot the dyed blond tips of his sister’s hair behind a bookshelf, and he’d rather not deal with that right now.

 

So, he’s been wandering aimless outside the entrance of Barnes and Nobles, for some time and—

 

Oh god, Mari’s spotted him.

 

“ _Where were you_?” she demands, stalking indignantly at him. Her posture is hunched over, a book is suffering in her lethal grip, and Yuuri doesn’t know if he’s going to survive this ordeal. “You’re _three_ hours late. Who does the hell does that on the first day of a job?”

 

“Sorry, Mari, some things happened,” Yuuri confesses. Mari gives him a dead expression.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like, being kicked in the head, spraining my ankle, and going off on a tangent about the social injustices of the world?”

 

The dead expression doesn’t lift from Mari’s face, but she does eye him up and down, reeling in on his swollen ankle. She lets out a sigh, throwing him an apron and gesturing for him to come into the store. Yuuri gladly accepts it and wraps it around his waist.

 

“You’re lucky I’m the manager of this branch. Honestly, after all I did to get you this job because you _barely_ leave the house…”

 

Her words dissipate into the air around Yuuri, as he ventures deeper into the calming atmosphere of the bookstore. He soaks in the alluring scent of vintage texts and untouched books, sighing in content. Yuuri finds himself wishing that he came here sooner.

 

“Here,” Mari says, dropping a pile of books in his arms, “place these books on the display shelf outside. You may have sprained your ankle, but I’m not letting you off the hook.”

 

Yuuri nods, and starts to head outside, ready to anything after laying on a massage bed for almost an hour.

 

“And Yuuri,” Mari continues, “take it easy, will you?”

 

A knowing smile grows on his face, and he starts to work with a happy tune, something Mari clicks her tongue at.

 

“Cheeky brat,” she mutters, but with all the fondness a sister could have.

 

Yuuri walks outside the bookstore, kneeling down to set the books out of display and--oh, it’s Kevin’s Beltran’s _Human of the Lost Ones._

 

If it were any other occasion, Yuuri would be bouncing with joy, but now it merely brings flashbacks to something he would rather forget. Yuuri picks up the book on top of the pile beside him and runs his hands over the hardback cover, his mind still replaying the scene in the Art of Massage.

 

How could someone hate Kevin Beltran? How could someone not think this book was the best of the season? How could someone have a different opinion than him?

 

Yuuri finds himself unable to help skimming the unscathed pages, letting his fingers drift across the endless lines of words, and sighs contently for the second time. He holds the book lovingly to his chest, lamenting in the thousands of theories he created in his head based on the relationship between two characters—

 

“Well, well, well. Cinderella _finally_ decided to show up at the ball,” someone announces, and Yuuri glances up to look across the corridor at the Abercrombie and Fitch entrance. “Break ended more than thirty minutes ago. What could you have possibly done to get Yakov on your ass?”

 

“I know, I know,” another responds, jogging after him. “I got caught up, that’s all.”

 

“With the guy you kicked in the head? For thirty whole minutes?” the other says skeptically. Yuuri furrows his eyebrows.

 

“We were talking about books, it was _interesting_!”

 

The duo finally walk through the entrance and start to stand—pose?—outside, smiling at the bypassers that hesitantly and shyly walk past the store.

 

Yuuri makes eye contact with one of the models and—

 

“Oh my god,” he whispers, as his eyes close in on _Viktor—_

 

Viktor being _shirtless_ , his abs out and open and _naked_ , and Yuuri can’t pull his eyes away from his—his  _everything._

 

And Viktor’s now eyeing the book cradled lovingly in Yuuri’s arms with such a confused expression, and Yuuri can’t blame him because he’s staring back with an equally appalling look on his face.

 

Everything finally clicks.

 

Oh.

 

Oh _no._


	2. Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining

It’s been exactly a week since the Horrid Incident™—the Horrid Incident™ being the mentally scarring eye contact Yuuri made with the shirtless Abercrombie and Fitch model across the corridor of the mall.

 

And it’s been exactly a week since Yuuri has avoided contact with said shirtless Abercrombie and Fitch model at all costs.

 

Mari thinks he’s being overdramatic, but the cashier desk is facing directly at the display window of the store, which means Yuuri is forced to see Viktor’s half naked body every single day for six hours at least seventy-two times. And no, Yuuri is not counting.

 

“Do you have a membership card with Barnes and Nobles?” Yuuri asks the lady waiting impatiently at the counter. She frowns, placing her hands on his hips as if she’s going to reprimand Yuuri right then and there. He almost embraces himself for a threatening wagging finger in his face.

 

“No,” she replies flatly.

 

“Um, would you like to form a membershi—”

 

“No.”

 

“Of course,” Yuuri says quietly. Retail is terrifying.

 

He silently bags her books for the rest of the time being, trying his hardest to avoid all eye contact and to not stare too hard at the _Human of the Lost Ones_ at the top of the book stack. Yuuri glances up one last time to give her the bag—because he knows that Mari’s watching his progress at this very moment—until his eyes catch that of a crowd gathering in the other side of the corridor.

 

Viktor’s shirtless, _obviously_ , and his partner beside him is teasing a _little_ bit too much fiddling with the waistband of his shorts. Yuuri watches as they flex and smile, courteously performing all the requests of the many girls who excitedly surround them. Viktor flashes another bright smile and nods his head at one of the customer’s comments, slinging an arm around her shoulder and posing to take a selfie. His partner takes it a step farther and lifts up the girl bridal style and pretends to carry her off somewhere. Pandemonium ensues.

 

Yuuri frowns at the scene, longing for the same kind of comfort in a social setting. How can people be that comfortable to the extent of—oh, now Viktor and his partner are _really_ carrying a girl off.

 

“ _Excuse_ me? I asked for my bag.”

 

Yuuri snaps his attention back to his work—the _actual_ thing he needs to focus on, not some socially apt characteristic he’s envious of.

 

“I’m sorry. Um,” he stutters, quickly handing over her bag of books, “I apologize.”

 

The woman doesn’t say anything more. She doesn't need to, and Yuuri doesn’t know whether he should be thankful for or disappointed in that. He watches in regret as she exits the store, and his eyes inevitably find their way back to the enthusiastic crowd.

 

Viktor’s stare meets his.

 

It surprises Yuuri at first, but he plays it off, because why would Viktor be looking at him? He’s probably looking at some place else that’s somewhere close to Yuuri—maybe the books on the display case or the next customer in front of Yuuri.

 

“Hello, sir,” he says, trying to get his mind off the impossible, “do you have a membership with Barnes and Noble?”

 

He begins to scan his books as the old man nods his head, and Yuuri is thankful to find that he’s just a nice old man who’s buying—

 

Yuuri almost recoils when he spots the graphically sexual content on the cover of the book.

 

“Um, that’s great! Uh,” Yuuri doesn’t know what to say, “what’s your phone number? So I can pull up your membership.”

 

The old man laughs, which is extremely discomforting now, and waves his hand, as if to dismiss the question. If Yuuri hadn’t seen what he had, he would have found the old man’s missing front tooth endearing. Now, not so much.

 

“Ah, it’s actually my granddaughter’s account,” he replies, as if that’s enough justification to get away with some free coupons.

 

 _Oh my god, he’s buying erotica with his granddaughter’s membership._ Yuuri forces a smile.

 

“I’m sorry, sir, but we need that phone number to get your discounts.”

 

The old man closes his eyes in thought, highlighting the creases near the corner of his eyes and rubbing his deeply wrinkled chin. “I’m not sure I remember her phone number. Hold on.”

 

He takes his sweet time trying to wrangle his phone out of his coffee stained grey sweatshirt—at least, Yuuri hopes it’s coffee—and squints painfully close at the 1994 Nokia flip phone, as he attempts to tap eight times for a capital S.

 

Yuuri can’t bear to witness this any longer. “Sir, how about I pull up her name and you can confirm if it’s her number or not? What’s your granddaughter’s name?”

 

The squinting doesn’t halt. If anything, he squints even harder when he looks up in the air. “Ah, her name was Samantha—no. Sawyer? Kyle.”

 

 _That doesn’t even start with S!_ Yuuri yells desperately inside his head.

 

He sucks in his breath in attempt to retain his sanity, glancing up to the ceiling to instead concentrate on the cracks and stains on its tiles.

 

But Yuuri spots Viktor’s eyes on him again, and he’s smiling this time. Great; now he’s witnessing the humiliation Yuuri’s currently suffering through. He watches as Viktor turns to his partner with a smirk on his face—oh, that’s definitely a smirk. Viktor and whatever-his-name-is are _definitely_ talking shit about him now.

 

They share a laugh, and when the crowd laughs with them, Yuuri feels a bit of him dying.

 

Yuuri doesn’t know if Viktor's aware that he can see them laughing at him, but Viktor keeps glancing back at him and laughing even more. What the hell? Is there something on his face? Yuuri frowns and attempts to inconspicuously fix his appearance, playing with the scruff of his collar.

 

“Is it okay if I pay with cash instead?” the old man inquires, already pulling out his worn down wallet.

 

Yuuri quickly nods. “Of course. Have you remembered your granddaughter’s name?”

 

“Oh, I just remembered I don’t have a granddaughter.”

 

Yuuri has discovered that sometimes it’s best not to respond at all.

 

He finishes the order eventually ( _finally_ , Yuuri wants to say), and Mari arrives sooner or later to his rescue. Yuuri has never been more relieved to run away from an innocent old man in his life. She gives him a sideways look, the one that screams: “ _w_ _ait until I tell Mom and Dad about this, you idiot"_.

 

Yuuri makes a face back at her, ignoring her exaggerated eye rolling, and heads back to the storage room to grab a cart full of newly imported books ready to be stocked on the shelves.

 

Out of all the jobs a worker can do in a bookstore, nothing can compare to the calming, relaxing, self-paced responsibility of replacing new books on the shelves. He can take his time, keep to himself, and occasionally check out books that interest him as he passes by, all while being able to avoid the very customers that give him anxiety.

 

Like now, for example, while on his way to replace a fresh stock of _Jane Eyre_ on the display shelves’ romance section _,_ Yuuri takes a small break and casually flips through the pages of _Pride and Prejudice_ , a romantic classic, and one of his favorites.

 

It’s romantic how Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy inevitably found themselves in love despite their problematic first encounter and their polarizing viewpoints, in Yuuri's opinion. Of course, Elizabeth obviously overwhelmed Darcy with her vernacular and intellect during the most of their first arguments, and Yuuri couldn’t love a character more.

 

If Viktor was a character in _Pride and Prejudice_ , Yuuri finds himself thinking, he would definitely be Darcy. For one, he’s probably rich—who wears Gucci necklaces and wristwatches when they work at Abercrombie and Fitch? But then again, why would a rich person work at a clothing store at a local mall in the first place? Yuuri purses his lips, rubbing the tooth of the paper between his fingers. Maybe he’s not _that_ rich. But the point still remains.

 

A second point: Viktor seems like the type of guy who tends to stay within his own circle of preppy, narrow-minded friends. Darcy didn’t see why he should bother with people who weren’t as rich, educated, or sophisticated as him, and Viktor probably doesn’t either. But, on the other hand, Viktor works as a floor model, who interacts and entertains _all_ of his customers, despite their social class. If anything, _Yuuri’s_ the one who lingers within his own circle of friends…  

 

Okay, well, Viktor definitely thinks highly of himself—one of Darcy’s very distinguishable traits. This, Yuuri knows well from their first interaction. No matter how much he liked to call himself Yuuri’s so-called “savior” at the time, he only cared for him because he was afraid of being sued, nothing angelic about that. Yuuri frowns, thinking about how Viktor carried him to Phichit’s store and how he was thirty minutes late to his shift because he was waiting for him to wake up, and how he probably _wouldn’t_ have been late had Yuuri not run blindly and carelessly in his way—

 

Wait, is _Yuuri_ the bad guy here?

 

No, no, no.

 

He grips the spine of the book tighter.

 

 _Yuuri_ is the one that got a boot to the head. _Yuuri_ is the Elizabeth Bennet of the story. Not that he’s trying to brag about himself, but Elizabeth and him share many qualities, like having a good sense of humor, for instance. Sure, not everybody understands his sense of humor (Mari usually has him explaining the joke and Yuuri refusing because _it’s a joke, Mari, you’re not supposed to explain it._ ) but Yuuri thinks he’s funny, and that’s all that matters.

 

So, despite the fact that Mr. Darcy holds the top place in Yuuri’s top ten fictional male characters, Viktor retains almost _all_ of his negative traits, and Yuuri himself relates closely with Elizabeth Bennet. All in all, if Viktor’s Mr. Darcy and Yuuri’s Elizabeth Bennet, then by the end of the day, that means—

 

Yuuri slams the book closed.

 

“Yuuri? You okay there?” Mari asks tentatively, an eyebrow raised ready for judgment.  

 

“Yes. I am fine. Nothing out the usual here. Nope,” Yuuri replies statically. He can feel Mr. Darcy falling to his death from his top ten list of fictional male characters.

 

“Okay, well,” Mari eyes him cautiously, “you’re gripping that book pretty hard.”

 

Yuuri instinctively tosses the book back on its place on the display shelf, then looks back at Mari, his eyebrows raised innocently. “What are you talking about?”

 

Mari throws him a dead expression. “Nevermind. I just wanted to tell you that you handled that last customer better than I expected you to.”

 

Yuuri shivers. “I didn’t want to remember that.”

 

“Too bad,” she smirks, then playfully knocks his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, you know?”

 

“Ugh, thanks,” Yuuri says, massaging his wounded shoulder. Then, in a smaller voice: “I could’ve done better, though.”

 

“You can’t expect your anxiety to disappear just like that. You’re working your way up to the top even _with_ the burden you carry on your shoulders.”

 

Yuuri merely sighs inwardly at the her words. He knows Mari is trying her best, but the taxing same conversation isn’t doing much to boost his self-confidence anymore.

 

“Is it going better?” she asks. “Since, you know, the whole—”

 

“The whole ‘being kicked in the head’ ordeal? Not really,” he finishes, trying to stop his mind from thinking about the crowd still lingering outside.

 

“In _my_ opinion,” Mari starts, and Yuuri resists the urge to roll his eyes, “I just think it might be a good idea to _befriend_ him instead of wallowing in your own self-pity.”

 

“ _B_ _efriend_ him? How can I befriend someone like that? He’s way over himself, and probably looks down on me. The only thing we did when we first met each other was constantly argue,” Yuuri shoots back, aggressively stocking books back in their rightful place. “And, for your information, I am _not_ wallowing in my own self-pity.”

 

Mari eyes Yuuri’s ragged movements, and he knows she’s trying to form her words carefully. “Viktor’s been working here for months already, maybe you haven’t gotten to know him well enough.”

 

“I don’t necessarily _want_ to know him well enough.”

 

“But think about it. Other than that, he could help you socialize better with people and the outside world.”

 

“So now I’m only forcing myself to befriend him so I can use him to improve my socializing skills?”

 

“Don’t put like that,” Mari says sternly, a reprimanding look on her face. Yuuri knows better than to fight with her when she has that expression. “Think of it as broadening your tiny circle of friends to better influences that will help you in life.”

 

“Well, in the grand scheme of things, that sounds phenomenal,” Yuuri retorts, despite his conscious telling him not to, with the way Mari’s glaring at him right now. “But this is _reality_. Do you know how bad it could go? I could make a fool out of myself, and he’d talk about my humiliation with his—with his _posse_.”

 

Mari frowns at his explanation, and says with a motherly tone: “That’s not a posse, those are customers.”

 

“That’s all you can say about that?” Yuuri strains. “Or, even worse, he could shoot me down right then and there if I approached him. Mr. Darcy totally slam dunked Elizabeth in their first encounter.”

 

Mari makes a face at that. “Isn’t Darcy your number one in that fictional male characters list of yours?”

 

“ _T_ _hat’s not the point, Mari!_ ” Yuuri shouts desperately as a whisper. “The point is that nothing good would come out of me befriending him. Shirtless models and social anxiety do not interact!”

 

Mari opens her mouth to rebut his claim, but something catches her eye behind him. She smiles politely, and Yuuri would have turned to see what she’s smiling at, but her supposedly polite smile turns knowingly at Yuuri. “Well, you might just want to rethink that.”

 

Yuuri frowns, confusion and bewilderment shrouded on his face. He turns around and—

 

Oh, there’s a chest there, and—

 

 _Oh_ , it’s Viktor.

 

Yuuri pauses. The cogs in his mind refuse to cooperate with his body, until—

 

Viktor is here. Viktor is at Barnes and Noble. Viktor is standing right in front of him.

 

Then: _why_ is Viktor here? Why _would_ Viktor be here? Why isn’t he working? Why isn’t he _shirtless?_ Is he on break? Did Viktor finally realize that Yuuri’s aware they were talking shit about him? Did he come here to confront him? Holy shit, Yuuri’s mind finally thinks, he’s going to fight him. Right here, right now. In the middle of a bookstore. In the middle of a bookstore _in the mall_. Yuuri hasn’t prepared himself for this yet. He doesn’t even know how to _fig—_

 

“So, funny story. I need to find a fictional novel to write my book report on,” Viktor says nonchalantly.

 

Yuuri’s brain redirects his focus back into reality. Oh. He flinches when he finally realizes what’s happening, and frantically whips his head to Mari for help. He’s actually not surprised when he sees she’s not there anymore.

 

Okay, Yuuri. Be natural. Don’t stutter. What’s something that’s normal to say in this situation?

 

“Uh,” Yuuri drawls out awkwardly, “I think the funny part of that story is that you’re looking for a fictional book.”

 

 _Fuck_. That'll have to do.

 

“Huh?” Viktor says, and oh god, Yuuri doesn’t know what to do anymore.

 

Did he say it too softly? Did that sentence not make any sense? Should he say it again? But it’s a joke, and repeating jokes suck the humorous aspect of it.

 

Wait a minute. Does Viktor not remember who he is? Of course he does—he kicked Yuuri in the head, how does someone not remember the person they kick in the head? Is Yuuri just not that memorable? Wait, what if this isn’t really Viktor. What if it’s just someone who _looks_ like hi—

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Viktor finally says, belting out a laugh. The rest of his words are light and pleasurable. “Is it because of that conversation we had the other day? Yeah, it’s ironic how I get an assignment on a fictional book after all that trash talk.”

 

Yuuri merely nods at that, no longer deciding to take the risk of embarrassing himself any further. Viktor laughs by himself for a moment longer, and Yuuri just stares at him in dismay.

 

What is Yuuri supposed to do in this situation? Viktor’s a grown adult, he can look at fictional books by himself. Yuuri needs an excuse to get out of this.

 

“Um, I need to continue restocking the books,” he says, gesturing to the cart by his side.

 

Viktor eyes it for a split second, then: “That’s an empty cart?”

 

Yuuri looks back and _dammit_ , he’s right. “Yeah, I uh, I need to go back to storage and get some new ones.”

 

_Nailed it._

 

“Oh, okay,” Viktor says. “But before that”— _fuck—_ “do you mind recommending me some fictional novels? I would ask someone else, but you seemed pretty passionate about it last week.”

 

Yuuri resists the urge to scream, and smiles politely—though, in any other perspective, it would look like he just pissed his pants and is waiting for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. That’s technically not wrong, now that he thinks about it.

 

He’s supposed to be _restocking the shelves_ , not helping customers find their way to the fiction section. What happened to his tranquility? His peace? His sanctuary?

 

Yuuri unwillingly leads Viktor to the wide variety of fictional books, and would opt to just leave him there, if not for Viktor’s constant commentary on everything he sees.

 

“Okay, what about this one? This one looks cool,” he says, eyeing the black and red cover of the book in his hands with curiosity.

 

Yuuri makes a disturbed expression at his book of choice. “ _The Crucible_? It’s okay. I didn’t really enjoy the ending.”

 

“What happens at the end?”

 

Yuuri eyes him cautiously. “Do you really want me to tell you that?”

 

Viktor chuckles under his breath, skimming through the pages of the play. “You’re right. Probably not.”

 

He wanders off down the aisle, slightly tilting his head to scan the spine of the books for this title. Yuuri nibbles of his lower lip and subconsciously taps his foot, suddenly feeling claustrophobic in tight space between the bookshelves.

 

“Alright, how about,” Viktor drones on, letting his finger trail randomly across the arrangement of books, “this one? _Lolita_.”

 

Yuuri immediately and furiously shakes his head at that.

 

Viktor lets out an amused huff. “Okay, no verbal response needed for that one.”

 

He goes back to browsing the vast amount of books, taking his time to examine each book’s cover and leaf through their content. Yuuri looks around, trying to busy himself. When he inevitably can’t find anything to do, he lets out a deep breath. This is taking too long.

 

“Um, is there a specific genre you’re looking for?” Yuuri finally asks. Viktor hums thoughtfully, looking back at him with a pleasant expression.

 

“A classic. If I’m going to start reading fiction now, I should probably start with the big guys,” he replies with resolution.

 

Yuuri nods in earnest, leaning his head back to flash through the boundless array of books. He expertly picks a couple books off the shelf, and chooses a few with more hesitance.  

 

“Let's see, you want a classic—hn, but you’re also a beginner, too…” he mumbles incoherently to himself. Viktor stands idly by, watching his movements. He casually leans on the bookshelf to right of him, as his eyes switch back and forth from the books on the shelf and the books in Yuuri’s arms.

 

“Here, _The Great Gatsby_. It’s read is not as intellectually challenging as the other classics, but its plot and characters are debatably more compelling than its contemporaries,” Yuuri informs, placing the book in Viktor’s hand, who graciously accepts it with an open expression. “Plus, it also has a movie with Leonardo Dicaprio, so if you’re ever feeling lazy, it’s always an option.”

 

Viktor tilts his head from side to side in consideration, flipping open the cover to read the description on the inside. “‘ _Midwest native Nick Carraway arrives in 1922 New York in search of the American dream—_ ’” he starts, then shakes his head. “It’s already too American.”

 

Yuuri wants to huff at the statement. “Do you want something international?”

 

Viktor shrugs, casually nodding his head. “Sure.”

 

“Then, here,” Yuuri says, the book already in his hand. “ _Cry, the Beloved Country_ , by Alan Paton. It takes place in South Africa under apartheid.”

 

Viktor welcomes the book and flips directly to the middle of the novel. With no response, Yuuri takes that as a sign to continue.

 

“What’s interesting is that it follows a parallel structure, and you only realize that until the middle of the book,” he says cautiously, resisting the urge to rant like he usually does. “What’s more is that while the two plots are actually deeply connected to each other, it also says a lot about the oppression the native South Africans faced while under apartheid.

 

“And although the ending wasn’t ideal,” he can’t help but continue, “I could see why Paton concluded it the way he did. It really gave the book the closure it needed, especially after what the main character experienced. Though, he’s kind of creepy, in my opinion.”

 

Viktor’s not looking down at the book anymore, but at him, an expression on his face that Yuuri can’t seem to understand. Oh, Viktor’s leaning kind of close to him. Yuuri subtly takes a tiny step back.

 

“Well, if the main character isn’t likable, then honestly, what’s the point?” Viktor says after a while. “Is he really that bad?”

 

Yuuri purses his lips. “He once threatens his son’s teenage wife to marry him to test her loyalty.”

 

“Ah,” Viktor says, then slowly places the book back on the shelf. Yuuri can’t blame him for that.

 

“What about this one?” Yuuri suggests, another book ready to recommend in case the previous ones fell through. “ _A Streetcar Named Desire_ by Tennessee Williams. It’s not international, but it is a play, and I remember that you were interested in _A Raisin in the Sun_ , so…”

 

“I was. I’m surprised you remember that, actually,” Viktor comments, and steps forwards to carefully pluck the play out of his hands before Yuuri could have second thoughts. “What about the ending to this one?”

 

“Do you always skip to the ending?”

 

“I just want to see if it’s worth reading or not. The book is only as good as its ending, as they say.”

 

“Well, you probably don’t want to read this then,” Yuuri huffs as he takes back the play, then scans the bookshelf for its original place. “It’s really a pity. In most books, you’d find character foils, but in this case, Blanche’s and Stanley’s character _development_ were the foils. It’s the first time I’ve read something like that.”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

“Yeah, like at the start of the play, Blanche is portrayed simply as an egotistical side character, but then you slowly start to sympathize with her as she descends into this downward spiral of mental deterioration. And she doesn’t even get the ending she deserved. She was _ripped off_.”

 

“I’m guessing you really liked her.”

 

“I _did!_ And _Stanley Kowalski_ ; don’t even get me started on him. And to think I actually liked him in the beginning. He’s technically not the antagonist, but he definitely is _antagonistic!_ Can you believe— _sorry_.”

 

Yuuri slams his mouth shut and mentally curses at himself when he realizes he’s been ranting. Viktor stares at him with his eyebrows raised and an anticipating expression, as if expecting him to continue.

 

“No, no,” he says, gently taking the play out of Yuuri’s hands. “You made me interested in it.”

 

Yuuri pauses, then says, “So, you’re taking this one then?”

 

“I’ll definitely be reading it. Though, I don’t know if we’re allowed to read plays for the book report.”

 

“Oh,” Yuuri says, for lack of a better answer. “I’m sorry I wasn’t much help.”

 

“What? No, you were a bunch of help. Look, I’ve got tons of starters now,” Viktor replies, gesturing towards his armful of books Yuuri didn’t know he was collecting.

 

“Are you—are you buying _all_ of that?” Yuuri asks incredulously.

 

“Of course. This report is like, twenty percent of my final grade.”

 

“But those are _five_ books. Even if some of them are plays, that’s pretty expensive.”

 

Viktor shrugs. “I have the money.”

 

 _Oh my god,_ Yuuri thinks, _he really is Mr. Darcy._

 

* * *

 

If questioned about what he’s planning to do for the rest of his life, Yuri Plisetsky would undoubtedly respond somewhere along the lines of “ _fuck off and shit in a tree, dipshit_ ”. Despite Yuri priding himself on his talent and intellect of deconstructing and rebuilding electronics, he almost always refuses to answer any questions regarding his next step towards adulthood.

 

Yuri Plisetsky is nineteen now. He’s won multiple competitions, all of which have granted him widespread recognition among even the most prestigious colleges. He’s received letters upon letters of scholarships and universities requesting his enrollment. He’s even been offered jobs and interns at the young age of fifteen.

 

Yet, Yuri Plisetsky only goes to a local college and works at his grandpa’s small tech stand in the middle of a mall.

 

It’s not as though he’s ashamed of it—he voluntarily works there almost every single day. It’s simply the fact this his grandpa isn’t as young anymore and can’t handle many of his customers. His grandpa blames it on his glasses, but he doesn’t even _wear_ glasses in the first place.

 

The only negative aspects of working at a mall stand were the obnoxiously rude customers and that fact that this stand in particular is placed just right outside a specifically loud and annoying clothing store where its models rampage shirtless all throughout—

 

“ _Ayy,_ working those _abs_ , Chris,” Viktor compliments, smacking his partner on the back in a rough fashion. Chris flexes and fiddles with the waistband of his shorts in response. The girls around them scream.

 

Yuri watches in disgust as Viktor swings an arm around one of the girls to take a selfie, a bright smile on his face; Yuri almost throws up in his mouth when he sees Chris literally pick up the girl and swing her around.

 

“Ugh, shut the _fuck_ up, Viktor,” Yuri yells from his stand as they start to actually carry her off. “You just ruined my inner monologue.”

 

“What kind of teen shit is that?” Chris says, as the crowd surrounding them starts to disperse after replenishing their daily dose of shirtless Abercrombie and Fitch models. Yuri frowns when they approach the stand to lean on the counter leisurely, disappointed, but not surprised.

 

“No, no. Chris, he’s not just _a_ teen. He’s _nineteen_ ,” Viktor adds on teasingly. Yuri feels a vein starting to pop.

 

“And he’s still working at his grandpa’s phone repair shop,” Chris sighs, shaking his head sympathetically. “Poor thing.”

 

“You guys are like, twenty-four years old. And you work at _Abercrombie and Fitch._ ”

 

“We’re old college students,” Chris justifies with lackluster, throwing an arm around Viktor’s shoulder, who nods solemnly. “We’re broke, you know?”

 

“And what does that make me? Homeless?”

 

“You’re living with your grandpa. At least you’ve got a backup. For us in this world, it’s either milk or be milked,” Viktor says.

 

Chris stares at him, then at Yuri. “Yeah, what he said.”

 

Yuri gives them a disappointed look. “Your supposedly deep metaphors aren’t doing you justice.”

 

“I got that from _Human of the Lost Ones_. A week later and I still can’t understand how anyone could find that book worthy of literary merit,” Viktor says, his arms up in a “ _what the hell?_ ” gesture. He pauses, and stares off into a space behind Yuri. Yuri momentarily wonders where he’s always been looking at this past week.

 

“You’re _still_ hooked on that?” Chris asks. “It’s already been a week.”

 

“It was an _interesting_ conversation,” Viktor emphasizes, redirecting his focus at the conversation. “As much as I hate that book, he did make me reevaluate my opinion.”

 

Yuri furrows his eyebrows. “Who are you guys talking about?”

 

Chris makes a blank expression. “Viktor met another book nerd the other day and just so happened to disagree over that book he’s super obsessed about.”

 

“Wait, the guy you knocked out in front of the fountain? _Wait,_ is he the guy you keep staring at in Barnes and Noble?”

 

“You knocked him up?!” Chris gasps, dramatically leaning on Viktor's body in despair. “In front of the _fountain?!”_

 

“Knocked _out_ ,” Viktor clarifies, disappointment oozing from his tone with Chris’ assumption. “I kicked him in the head. You know, while you were too busy beat boxing to care? And _how do you know that._ ” He redirects at Yuri. 

 

Yuuri shrugs. “You think you’re being subtle by staring off into the distance? The only thing behind me is Barnes and Noble, Viktor.”

 

“Okay, but how did you know I was staring at _him?_ Even you couldn’t figure that out.”

 

“I didn’t,” Yuri says. “You just confirmed it for me.”

 

Viktor huffs and puffs indignantly, animatedly throwing his hands up in the air. “Wow. _Wow._ I can’t believe I just got played by the oldest trick in the book. That was cruel, Yuri. That was cruel.”

 

Chris pats him on the shoulder sympathetically. “At least you found yourself someone who’s as addicted to books as you are.”

 

Viktor’s about to respond, but a group of teenagers approach them, shy and bashful. He and Chris immediately lift themselves from the counter and straighten their posture to welcome them. They take pictures and accept requests for selfies, and Yuri silently watches as they wordlessly cater to the crowd with a smile on their face.

 

But Yuri can tell Viktor’s still distracted by whoever is in that bookstore, with the way Viktor unusually doesn’t have all of his attention on the customers, and how his eyes occasionally shift back to the cashier ringing up books in Barnes and Noble.

 

 _Oh_ , Yuri thinks, finally realizing the connection between the _guy_ and the Barnes and Noble cashier, and comes to the conclusion that Viktor is totally and utterly whipped before he even knows it.

 

Like now, for example, when Viktor looks up again to eye the cashier with the customers more invested in Chris’ redundant story about ice skating, he smiles this time—that’s the first, but he quickly goes back to work again, smirking at some joke Chris said.

 

The group soon leaves to actually venture into the store, but Yuri can sense the looming waves of rush hour approaching. It’s obvious from the way the sudden influx of young adults begin to flood the mall corridors with their shopping bags and Starbucks coffee.

 

“But he likes _fiction._ The _guy,_ I mean,” Viktor suddenly says, bringing up the topic again. Yuri isn’t surprised. “And I hate fiction books.”

 

He raises his eyebrow at him. “Isn’t that, I don’t know, petty?”

 

Viktor lets out a deep sigh, slumping over the counter of Cellairis again. Chris follows suit. “Maybe? I don't know. But it was fun talking to him. I rarely get into debates like that anymore.”

 

“Then just start reading fiction,” Yuri suggests. Chris nods his head and starts to play with phone cases on display, obviously distracted, forcing Yuri to be the main emotional support pillar.

 

“How can I start reading fiction after I trash talked it to him?” Viktor whines. “It’d be so awkward. He’d be laughing at me in my face.”

 

“What’s this guy’s name again?”

 

Viktor opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. He closes it pathetically.

 

“ _You don’t even know his name?_ ” Yuri gapes.

 

“There was never a moment!” Viktor cries. “I kicked him in the head, brought him to Phichit, argued about books, then ran away from Yakov. And now I probably won’t have the chance to talk to him again.”

 

“Just make up an excuse or something,” Yuri suggests, his disinterest on the topic reaching its peak.

 

Viktor slumps almost immediately, probably thinking about his long lost friendship.

 

“You’re really caught up with this guy, Viktor,” Chris adds.

 

“I just think that we’d get along pretty well,” Viktor replies. “You know, ‘cause of the books.”

 

“Yeah,” Chris says, “books.”

 

Viktor gives him a dead look.

 

Yuri groans. “It’s not that hard to come up with an excuse to read fiction. Just say you have a book report and need his recommendations, or something.”

 

Viktor gasps, as if Yuri had just figured out the secrets to life’s mysteries. “ _Holy shit._ You’re right.”

 

“And add in that only fiction books are allowed,” Chris adds. “That way he won’t be able to help himself when he rants to you about how _so_ and _so_ fell in love, or something like that.”

 

“Holy shit, guys,” Viktor says, prepping himself up and bouncing on his feet. “ _Holy shit_.”

 

He slams his palms onto the counter in a hyperactive manner. Yuri thinks he's about to ditch them right then and there and charge straight into Barnes and Noble, but Viktor stops himself and goes back into a contemplative pose as he leans over the counter again, his hands intertwined with a fire lit in his eyes. 

 

"Wait, what if he doesn't remember me?" he asks.

 

Yuri doesn't have time for this bullshit. "You kicked him in the head."

 

Viktor furiously nods at him, and takes off again. He only gets about two feet before he's back at the counter. Yuri groans. 

 

"Wait," Viktor says, "what if he doesn't like me  _because_ I kicked him in the head?"

 

"Well, you'll never know unless you talk to him," Chris supplies, now playing Tetris on his phone. 

 

Viktor gasps. " _Gasp._ You're right. Where would I be without you?"

 

Another five feet. Viktor's retracts back to the stand—

 

" _Jesus,_ what the fuck is it now?" Yuri complains.

 

Viktor lets out a sheepish smile. "Thanks."

 

He abruptly drops the conversation and sprints into the store, jogging right out it with one arm in his shirt. Yuri gapes at him.

 

“When I said _make an excuse to talk to him_ , I didn’t mean _now_ ,” he yells. “You’re not even on _break!_ ”

 

“Yakov, I’m taking my break now!” Viktor announces to the raging old man now chasing him from the office at the back the store.

 

Chris supportively whoops and hollers behind him. “Yeah, you go Viktor! Get that ass!”

 

“ _No_ , Viktor!” Yakov screams. “ _Do not_ get that ass!”

 

* * *

 

Nikolai Plisetsky returns from his lunch break to see a half naked man, struggling to put a shirt on, run past him and into the Barnes and Noble across the corridor.

 

Then, he sees his grandson, Yuri Plisetsky, frustratedly slam his face into the counter and groan out loud despite the headache he probably has right now. Nikolai rests his hand on his back for comfort.

 

“What is it now, Yura?” he asks.

 

Even though he can’t see his expression, he knows Yuri making a face at him. “I’ve experienced hell and back.”

 

“When _don’t_ you experience hell and back?”

 

“When I’m with you,” he replies, his face smothered in his arms as he slumps over the counter.

 

Nikolai would laugh at that—he always does. But he always feels as though Yuri is only working for his little, cheap phone repair stand because he’s worried about him. Nikolai doesn’t want to feel like he’s forcing his precious grandson to abandon his dreams to stay with him. He wants him to branch out, and he knows Yuri wants to, too.

 

He originally offered the job because it was easy money and it’s the first step into adulthood and becoming independent, but now it seems as though this job is the burden that’s holding him back from pursuing his dreams.

 

He knows that his grandson wants to pursue some type of electronics major, he knows he wants to grow up and finally become an independent adult, but whenever he brings up the topic, Yuri fidgets and changes subject more towards how the shop is doing.

 

Nikolai would just fire him if that’s what it takes to propel him into the real world, but that’s definitely the wrong method to choose.

 

Yuri’s head abruptly snaps up when he hears the familiar bell of a segway rolling down the corridor.

 

“Here we go,” Nikolai grunts, and sits down at his chair, waiting for the chaos to unfold.

 

“ _Good evening_ , shoppers of Hasetsu Mall. Do not worry, for it is I, _Jean Jacques Leroy_ , doing my daily rounds and making sure the mall is in good hands,” the man in the mall security outfit announces over a loudspeaker as he slowly rides his segway down the corridor. The shoppers walking by move out of his way, not out of respect, but because the scene is just so peculiar they can’t look away. One woman shields her son’s eyes as she gapes at JJ sliding right by.

 

Yuri practically growls at him. “ _Yeah right,_  you’re just a fucking intern getting Starbucks for the _real_ security guards.”

 

“I’ll have you know that I, _JJ_ , am learning respect and dignity from this procedure. Maybe _you_ should learn that too, little Yurio,” JJ responds through the loudspeaker—right in Yuri’s face.

 

Nikolai sighs, and gets to his paperwork.

 

Yuri slams his fists on the counter. “ _What the fuck did you just fucking say to me, you little bitch?_ I hope you realize you’re just being used a scapegoat by your superiors, fucker.”

 

“Alright,” JJ says, his voice cracking, “you’re under arrest for hurting a security guard's feelings.”

 

Yuri leaps over the counter this time, sprinting away. JJ attempts to chase after him on his segway as he frantically waves his baton, slowly but surely.

 

“ _Try and catch me, you fake ass bitch!_ ” Nikolai hears his precious grandson screech.

 

He sighs and rubs his forehead. How is he supposed to grow up if he’s still a kid?

 

* * *

 

By the end of his shift, Yuuri’s kneeling down to refill the books out on display (which is still _Humans of the Lost Ones—_ ha, take that, Viktor) when his mind inevitably trails back to their encounter earlier in the day.

 

Viktor probably doesn’t know his name. Yuuri isn’t sure that he _wants_ to know his name. He didn’t ask for it, anyway. So that means that their encounters were only chance and that maybe Viktor _was_ mocking him with that crowd.

 

Besides, after the mess Yuuri made of himself before, he’s absolutely positive that Viktor wouldn’t be the _least_ interested in him. All he did was rant on and on about books Viktor’s never read before, so the whole conversation must have been lost to him.

 

His mind reels in on their first conversation, and Yuuri covers his face in his hands in shame. How could he have said that showing off bodies is vain when Viktor literally _works as a shirtless model right across from him_?

 

But Yuuri can’t help himself. He’s passionate about that topic—the only reason why Xavier’s speech towards the villagers is such a phenomenal moment to him is because that’s one of the only parts that really resonate within him. He can relate to the villagers, and the pressure of society’s emphasis on rock hard, perfectly chiseled bodies—the body type that Yuuri does not, in fact, have.

 

He’s just a nobody who works at a bookstore, and Viktor’s a majestic shirtless Abercrombie and Fitch model who does just well on his own.

 

Really, Yuuri hopes that he stops talking to him. It’s embarrassing enough as it is.

 

He glances up and of course, Viktor is standing at the entrance again, posing. He catches his eye, and before Yuuri can look away, Viktor smiles widely and winks.

 

Yuuri stares back at him with a blank expression, wondering which lucky person that gesture’s directed to. He looks behind him, seeing no one, then looks around.

 

No one is there.

 

No one is in the corridor.

 

He glances back at Viktor, whose smile is even wider now. He flexes, but Yuuri frantically looks away, embarrassed by the open display of— _abs,_ and _muscles,_  and Viktor's _everything_.

 

 

“ _Jesus fucking christ,_ ” Yuri says from his stand positioned in the middle of the corridor, “ _t_ _his is a fucking mall, you losers._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Chris, JJ, and Papa Plisetksy are finally introduced! I hope this chapter isn't unnecessarily long—I tend to do that a lot, which I'm trying to fix!
> 
> Next chapter features a very masculine and charismatic otabek ;))))))))

**Author's Note:**

> I ended up watching 3 hours of that damn most important videos playlist on youtube and somehow the horrible mall commercial ceases to leave my mind, hence this  
> Also, kevin belkan is someone I made up lol human of the lost ones is a book title I got from a fantasy simulator pls don't google it thanks ahaha


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